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RILEY LOVE-LYRICS 
WITH LIFE PICTURES 



©tfjcr Books by 
3ames IPfyttcomb Htley 



THE GOLDEN YEAR (Eng- 
lish Edition). 

A CHILD-WORLD. 

XEGHBORLY POEMS. 

SKETCHES IN PROSE AND 
IXTERLUDING VERSES. 

AFTERWHILES. 

PIPES 0' PAN (Prose and 
Verse). 

RHYMES OF CHILDHOOD. 

FLYING ISLANDS OF THE 

NIGHT. 
-OLD-FASHIONED ROSES 
(English Edition). 

GREEN FIELDS AND RUN- 
NING BROOKS. 

ARMAZINDY. 

POEMS HERE AT HOME. 

RUBAIYAT OF DOC SIF- 
ERS. 

CHILD-RHYMES W I T II 
HOOSIER PICTURES. 



;-- -^ . 





SO were I but a minstrel, deft 

At weaving, with the trembling strings 
Of my glad harp, the warp and weft 
Of rondels such as rapture sings , — 
F d loop my lyre across my breast, 
Nor stay me till my knee found rest 
In midnight banks of bud and flower 
Beneath my lady's lattice-bower. 

And there, drenched with the teary dews, 

I'd woo her with such wondrous art 
As well might stanch the songs that ooze 
Out of the mockbird's breaking heart; 
So light, so tender, and so sweet 
Should be the words I would repeat, 
Her casement, on my gradual sight, 
Would blossom as a lily might. 



RILEY 



LOVE-LYRICS 



JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY 



WITH 



LIFE PICTURES 



WILLIAM 13. DYER 



INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA, U. S. A. 

THE BOWEN-MERRILL COMPANY 



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44347 



Copyright, 1883, 1887, 1888, 1S90, 1S91, 1S92, 1S94, 

18%, 1898 end 1899 

by 

James Whitcomb Riley 

All rights reserved 

TWO COPIES RECEIVED. 



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SEC ON? ^OPY, 



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INSCRIBED 
To Tin: Elect oit Love, -ok side-by-side 
In kaptest ecstasy, ok sundeked wide 
By seas that beau NO mkssaue to OH fro 

liETWEEN THE LOVED AM) LOST OF LON(J A(JO. 










pvCasfia,Sa» ^g 






Page 
An Outworn Sappho 37 

An Old Sweetheart of Mine 23 

Blooms of May 185 

Discouraging Model, a 133 

lUtl.AM 46 

Farmer Whipple Bacheloii 107 

Has She Forgotten '( 181 

II k and I 83 

II e Called Her In 50 

Her Beautiful Eyes go 

Her Hair 12« 

Her Face and Brow 63 

Hew Waiting Face 71 

Home at NlGHT liJ 

How it Happened B5 

Ike Walton's I'haykk 107 

[LLILKO Ill 

Judith 79 

( w ) 



Contents — Continued 

Last Nhjht and This 131 

Leonainie ... 08 

Let Us Pohgex 04 

Lost Path, The 87 

My Bride That Is To Be 90 

My Mary 117 

Nothin' to Say 103 

Old Played-out Song, A 31 

Old Year and the New, The 72 

Passing of a Heart, The H"\ i» i^ 

Rival, The 148 

Hose, The '178 

Sermon of the Kose, The 188 

Song of Long Ago, A 100 

Suspense 136 

Their Sweet Sorrow 70 

To Hear Her Sing 110 

Tom Van Auden . . .+ 139 

Touches of IIek Hands, The 157 

Variation, A 131 

Very Youthful Affair, A 30 

When Age Comes On 101 

When Lide Marhied Him 125 

When My Dkeams Come True 99 

When She Comes Home 07 

Where Shall We Land 154 

Why I Loved Her 44 

Wife Blessed, The 115 

(XVI) 








Love-Lyrics Frontispiece 

Contents— Title xv 

Illustrations— Title xvn 

Illustrations— Tailpiece xx 

An Old Sweetheart of Mine 23 

And I Light My Pipe in Silence 24 

The Voices of My Children 2~> 

The Pink Sunbonnet :2C> 

When First I Kissed Her 27 

My Wife is Standing There 30 

A Old Played Out Song 33 

A Old Played Out Song Tailpiece 33 

An Outworn Sappho 41 

An Outworn Sappho Tailpiece L3 

A Vkkv VpUTHFUL Affair 86 

The Passing of a Heart Title n 

The Passing of a Heart Tailpiece US 

( xvii ) 






Illustrations — Continued 

Why I Loved Her— Tailpiece 45 

Dream 47 

Dream— Tailpiece 4*.) 

He Called Her In— Title 50 

A Dark and Eerie Child 51 

When She First Came to Me 57 

He Called Her In— Tailpiece 59 

Has She Forgotten ? 181 

Has She Forgotten?— Tailpiece 183 

The Touches of Her Hands— Title . 157 

The Touches of Her Hands— Tailpiece 158 

The Rose— Title 178 

The Rose— Tailpiece 17 f j 

A Discouraging Model 135 

Their Sweet Sorrow 77 

Judith 81 

He and I 85 

Where Shall We Land ?— Title 154 

Where Shall We Land?— Tailpiece 156 

My Bride That Is To Be 91 

How it Happened 97 

The Lost Path— Tailpiece 87 

When My Dreams Come True 101 

Leonainie — Title 68 

L eon ainie— Tailpiece 70 

When She Comes Home 71 

Home at Night 123 



( xviii ) 



Illustrations — Continued 

Nothin' to Say 105 

Illileo 113 

Ike Walton's Prayer— Title 107 

Ike Walton's Prayer-Tailpiece 110 

The Wife Blessed 115 

My Mary 119 

Her Hair 129 

Why Lide Married Him— Title 125 

Why Lide Married Him— Tailpiece 1:27 

Last Night and This— Title 131 

Last Night and This—Tailpiece 132 

The Old Year and the New— Title 7:2 

The Old Year and the New— Tailpiece 73 

The Rival 148 

Tom Van Arden— Title 139 

Tom Van Arden . , 141 

Let Us Forget— Title 04 

Our Worn Eyes are Wet 65 

To Hear Her Song i»c> 

To Hear Her Song Tailpiece 147 

A Variation TAILPIECE 1">I 

Ber Waiting Face '.i 

A Song OF Long Ago 161 

Her Beautiful Eyes Title 60 

Ber Beautiful Eyes Tailpiece 61 

Parmer Whipple Bachelor Title 161 

Ridin' Home with Mary 171 

Farmer Whipple Bachelor Tailpiece 171 



( xix ) 



Illustkations — Continued 

The Sermon of the Rose 1Hi) 

Suspense 137 

Her Face and Brow 6:i 

Blooms of May 187 

When Age Comes On— Title 1& 5 

When She Comes Home 67 




(xx) 



RILEY LOVE-LYRICS 






*&#_£>-*' 




AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE 



AS ONE who cons at evening o'er an album all 
alone, 
And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, 
So I turn tht' leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design, 

I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine. 



AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE 




The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise, 
As I turn it low, to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes, 
And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to 

yoke 
Its fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke. 



Tis a fragrant retrospection — for the loving thoughts 

that start 
Into being are like perfume from the blossom of the 

heart ; 
And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine — 
When my truant fancy wanders with that old sweetheart 

of mine. 

24 



AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE 

Though I hear, beneath my study, like a fluttering of 

wings, 
The voices of my children, and the mother as she sings, 
I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme 
/When Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream. 

In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm , 
To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm — 
For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine 
That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart 
of mine. 




-5 



AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE 




A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace, 
Floats out of my tobacco as the genii from the vase ; 
And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes 
As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies. 

I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress 
She wore when first I kissed her and she answered the 

caress 
With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine 
Grew round the stump," she loved me — that old sweet- 
heart of mine. 

And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand, 

As we used to talk together of the future we had 

planned — 

. 26 



AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE 

When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do 
But write the tender verses that she set the music to: 

When we should live together in a cozy little cot 
Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot, 
Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever 

fine, 
And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart 

of mine : 




When I should be her lover forever and a day, 

And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was 

gray ; 
And we should be so happy that when cither's lips were 

dumb 
They would not smile in I leaven till the other's kiss had 

come. 



t ! * * "! : "I-' 

JO 



AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE 

But, ah ! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair, 
And the door is softly opened, and — my wife is standing 

there ; 
Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign 
To greet the living presence ofHdiat old sweetheart of 

mine. 



V 




30 



A OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG 

IT'S the curiousest thing in creation, 
Whenever I hear that old song 
"Do They Miss Me at Home," I'm so bothered, 

My life seems as short as it's long ! — 
Fer ev'rything 'pears like adzackly 

It 'peared in the years past and gone, — 
When I started out sparkin', at twenty, 
And had my first neckercher on ! 

Though I'm wrinkelder, older and grayer 

Right now than my parents was then, 
You strike up that song "Do They Miss Me," 

And I'm jest a youngster again ! — 
I'm a-standin' back tharc in the furries 

A-wishin' fer evening to come, 
And a-whisperin' over and over 

Them words "Do They Miss Me at Home?' 

You see, Marthy Ellen she sung it 
The first time T heerd it ; and so. 



A OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG 

As she was my very first sweethart, 

It reminds me of her, don't you know ; — 

How her face ust to look, in the twilight, 
As I tuck her to Spellin' ; and she 

Kep' a-hummin' that song tel I ast her, 
Pine-blank, ef she ever missed me! 

I can shet my eyes now, as you sing it, 

And hear her low answerin' words ; 
And then the glad chirp of the crickets, 

As clear as the twitter of birds ; 
And the dust in the road is like velvet, 

And the ragweed and fennel and grass 
Is as sweet as the scent of the lilies 

Of Eden of old, as we pass. 

"Do They Miss Me at Home?'' Sing it lower- 

And softer — and sweet as the breeze 
That powdered our path with the snowy 

White bloom of the old locus'-trees ! 
Let the whipperwills he'p you to sing it, 

And the echoes 'way over the hill, 
Tel the moon boolges out, in a chorus 

Of stars, and our voices is still. 

32 



A OLD PLAYED-OUT SONG 

But oh ! "They's a chord in the music 

That's missed when her voice is away !" 
Though I listen from midnight tel morning, 

And dawn tel the dusk of the day ! 
And I grope through the dark, lookin' up'ards 

And on through the heavenly dome, 
With my longin' soul singin' and sobbin' 

The words "Do They Miss Me at Home?" 




35 





A VERY YOUTHFUL AFFAIR 

I'M bin a-visitun 'bout a week 
To my little Cousin's at Nameless Creek ; 
An' I'm got the hives an' a new straw hat, 
An' I'm come back home where my beau lives at. 



36 



AN OUT- WORN SAPPHO 

HOW tired I am ! I sink down all alone 
Here by the wayside of the Present. Lo, 
Even as a child I hide my face and moan — 
A little girl that may no farther go : 
The path above me only seems to grow 

More rugged, climbing still, and ever briered 
With keener thorns of pain than these below ; 
And O the bleeding feet that falter so 
And are so very tired ! 

Why, I have journeyed from the far-off Lands 

Of Babyhood — where baby-lilies blew 
Their trumpets in mine ears, and filled my hands 
With treasures of perfume and honey-dew, 
And where the orchard shadows ever drew 

Their cool arms round me when my cheeks were fired 
Witli too much joy, and lulled mine eyelids to, 
And only let the starshine trickle through 
In sprays, when I was tired ! 



37 



AN OUT-WORN SAPPHO 

Yet I remember, when the butterfly 

Went flickering about me like a flame 
That quenched itself in roses suddenly, 

How oft I wished that / might blaze the same, 
And in some rose-wreath nestle with my name, 

While all the world looked on it and admired. — 
Poor moth ! — Along my wavering flight toward fame 
The winds drive backward, and my wings are lame 
And broken, bruised and tired ! 

I hardly know the path from those old times ; 

I know at first it was a smoother one 
Than this that hurries past me now, and climbs 
So high, its far cliffs even hide the sun 
And shroud in gloom my journey scarce begun. 

I could not do quite all the world required — 
I could not do quite all I should have done, 
And in my eagerness I have outrun 

My strength — and I am tired. . . . 

Just tired ! But when of old I had the stay 

Of mother-hands, O very sweet indeed 
It was to dream that all the weary way 

I should but follow where I now must lead — 

38 



AN OUT-WORN SAPPHO 

For long ago they left me in my need, 

And, groping on alone, I tripped and mired 
Among rank grasses where the serpents breed 
In knotted coils about the feet of speed. — 
There first it was I tired. 

And yet I staggered on, and bore my load 

Right gallantly : The sun, in summer-time, 
In lazy belts came slipping down the road 

To woo me on, with many a glimmering rhyme 
Rained from the golden rim of some fair clime, 

That, hovering beyond the clouds, inspired 
My failing heart with fancies so sublime 
I half forgot my path of dust and grime, 
Though I was growing tired. 

And there were many voices cheering me : 

I listened to sweet praises where the wind 
Went laughing o'er my shoulders gleefully 
And scattering my love-songs far behind ; — 
Until, at last, I thought the world so kind — 
So rich in all my yearning soul desired — 
So generous — so loyally inclined, 
I grew to love and trust it. ... I was blind — 
Yea, blind as I was tired ! 

39 



AN OUT-WORN SAPPHO 

And yet one hand held me in creature-touch : 

And O, how fain it was, how true and strong, 
How it did hold my heart up like a crutch, 
Till, in my dreams, I joyed to walk along 
The toilsome way, contented with a song — 

'Twas all of earthly things I had acquired, 
And 'twas enough, I feigned, or right or wrong, 
Since, binding me to man — a mortal thong — 
It stayed me, growing tired. . . . 

Yea, I had e'en resigned me to the strait 

Of earthly rulership — had bowed my head 
Acceptant of the master-mind — the great 
One lover — lord of all, — the perfected 

Kiss-comrade of my soul; — had stammering said 
My prayers to him ; — all — all that he desired 
I rendered sacredly as we were wed. — 
Nay — nay ! — 'twas but a myth I worshipped. — 
And — God of love ! — how tired ! 

For, O my friends, to lose the latest grasp — 
To feel the last hope slipping from its hold — 

To feel the one fond hand within your clasp 
Fall slack, and loosen with a touch so cold 

40 



AN OUT-WORN SAPPHO 

Its pressure may not warm you as of old 

Before the light of love had thus expired — 
To know your tears are worthless, though they rolled 
Their torrents out in molten drops of gold. — 
God's pity ! I am tired ! 

And I must rest. — Yet do not say "She died," 

In speaking of me, sleeping here alone. 
[ kiss the grassy grave I sink beside, 
And close mine eyes in slumber all mine own : 
Hereafter I shall neither sob nor moan 

Nor murmur one complaint ; — all I desired, 
And failed in life to find, will now be known — 
So let me dream. Good night ! And on the stone 
Say simply: She was tired. 




43 




THE PASSING OF A HEART 

O TOUCH mc with your hands — 
For pity's sake ! 
My brow throbs ever on with such an ache 
As only your cool touch may take away ; 
And so, I pray 

You, touch me with your hands ! 

Touch — touch me with your hand. — 

Smooth back the hair 
You once caressed, and kissed, and called so fair 
That I dream its gold would wear alway. 
And lo, to-day — 

O touch me with vour hands ! 



44 



THE PASSING OF A HEART 

Just touch me with your hands, 

And let them press 
My weary eyelids with the old caress, 
And lull me till I sleep. Then go your way, 
That Death may say: 

He touched her with his hands. 




45 



"DREAM" 

BECAUSE her eyes were far too deep 
And holy for a laugh to leap 
Across the brink where sorrow tried 
To drown within the amber tide ; 
Because the looks, whose ripples kissed 
The trembling lids through tender mist, 
Were dazzled with a radiant gleam — 
Because of this I called her "Dream." 

Because the roses growing wild 
About her features when she smiled 
Were ever dewed with tears that fell 
With tenderness ineffable ; 
Because her lips might spill a kiss 
That, dripping in a world like this, 
Would tincture death's myrrh-bitter stream 
To sweetness — so T called her "Dream." 

Because T could not understand 
The magic touches of a hand 

4 6 



DREAM 

That seemed, beneath her strange control, 

To smooth the plumage of the soul 

And calm it, till, with folded wings, 

It half forgot its flutterings, 

And, nestled in her palm, did seem 

To trill a song that called her "Dream." 

Because I saw her, in a sleep 
As dark and desolate and deep 
And fleeting as the taunting night 
That flings a vision of delight 
To some lorn martyr as he lies 
In slumber ere the day he dies — 
Because she vanished like a gleam 
Of glory, do I call her "Dream." 




40 



■■^ ; ' ■•".■■"' .:/'- :"'■■':'. '•'•■■;V"- : ' 



HE CALLED HER IN 



HE called her in from me and shut the door. 
And she so loved the sunshine and the sky ! — 
She loved them even better yet than I 
That ne'er knew dearth of them — my mother dead, 
Nature had nursed me in her lap instead : 
And I had grown a dark and eerie child 
That rarely smiled, 

Save when, shut all alone in grasses high, 
Looking straight up in God's great lonesome sky 
And coaxing Mother to smile back on me. 
Twas lying thus, this fair girl suddenly 
Came on me, nestled in the fields beside 
A pleasant-seeming home, with doorway wide — 
The sunshine beating in upon the floor 

50 



HE CALLED HER IN 

Like golden rain. — 

sweet, sweet face above me, turn again 
And leave me ! I had cried, but that an ache 
Within my throat so gripped it I could make 
No sound but a thick sobbing. Cowering so, 

1 felt her light hand laid 

Upon my hair — a touch that ne'er before 

Had tamed me thus, all soothed and unafraid — 

It seemed the touch the children used to know 

When Christ was here, so dear it was — so dear,- 

At once I loved her as the leaves love dew 

In midmost summer when the days are new. 

Barely an hour I knew her, yet a curl 

Of silken sunshine did she clip for me 

Out? of the bright May-morning of her hair, 

And bound and gave it to me laughingly, 

And caught my hands and called me "Little girl" 

Tiptoeing, as she spoke, to kiss me there ! 

And I stood dazed and dumb for very stress 

Of my great happiness. 

She plucked me by the gown, nor saw how mean 

The raiment — drew me with her everywhere : 

Smothered her face in tufts of grasses green : 

Put up her dainty hands and peeped between 

Her fingers at the blossoms — crooned and talked 

To them in strange, glad whispers, as we walked,- 

Said this one was her angel mother — this, 

Her baby-sister — come back, for a kiss, 



53 



HE CALLED HER IN 

Clean from the Good-World ! — smiled and kissed them, 

then 
Closed her soft eyes and kissed them o'er again. 
And so did she beguile me — so we played, — 
She was the dazzling Shine — I, the dark Shade — 
And we did mingle like to these, and thus, 
Together, made 

The perfect summer, pure and glorious. 
So blent we, till a harsh voice broke upon 
Our happiness. — She, startled as a fawn, 
Cried, "Oh, 'tis Father !" — all the blossoms gone 
From out her cheeks as those from out her grasp. — 
Harsher the voice came : — She could only gasp 
Affrightedly, "Good-bye ! — good-bye ! good-bye !" 
And lo, I stood alone, with that harsh cry 
Ringing a new and unknown sense of shame 
Through soul and frame, 

And, with wet eyes, repeating o'er and o'er, — 
"He called her in from me and shut the doer!" 

II. 

He called her in from me and shut the door ! 
And I went wandering alone again — 
So lonely — O so very lonely then, 

54 



HE CALLED HER IN 

I thought no little sallow star, alone 

In all a world of twilight, e'er had known 

Such utter loneliness. But that I wore 

Above my heart that gleaming tress of hair 

To lighten up the night of my despair, 

I think I might have groped into my grave 

Nor cared to wave 

The ferns above it with a breath of prayer. 

And how I hungered for the sweet, sweet face 

That bent above me in my hiding-place 

That day amid the grasses there beside 

HeV pleasant home ! — "Her pleasant home !" I sighed, 

Remembering; — then shut my teeth and feigned 

The harsh voice calling me, — then clinched my nails 

So deeply in my palms, the sharp wounds pained, 

And tossed my face toward heaven, as one who pales 

In splendid martyrdom, with soul serene, 

As near to God as high the guillotine. 

And I had envied her? Not that — O no ! 

But I had longed for some sweet haven so ! — 

Wherein the tempest-beaten heart might ride 

Sometimes at peaceful anchor, and abide 

Where those that loved me touched me with their hands, 

And looked upon me with glad eyes, and slipped 

55 



HE CALLED HER IN 

Smooth fingers o'er my brow, and lulled the strands 

Of my wild tresses, as they backward tipped 

My yearning face and kissed it satisfied. 

Then bitterly I murmured as before, — 

"He called her in from me and shut the door !" 

III. 

He called her in from me and shut the door ! 

After long struggling with my pride and pain — 

A weary while it seemed, in which the more 

I held myself from her, the greater fain 

Was I to look upon her face again ; — 

At last — at last — half conscious where my feet 

Were faring, I stood waist-deep in the sweet 

Green grasses there where she 

First came to me. — 

The very blossoms she had plucked that day, 

And, at her father's voice, had cast away, 

Around me lay, 

Still bright and blooming in these eyes of mine; 

And as I gathered each one eagerly, 

1 pressed it to my lips and drank the wine 

Her kisses left there for the honey-bee. 

Then, after I had laid them with the tress 

56 



HE CALLED HER IN 

Of her bright hair with lingering tenderness, 
I, turning, crept on to the hedge that bound 
Her pleasant-seeming home — but all around 
Was never sign of her ! — The windows all 
Were blinded ; and I heard no rippling fall 
Of her glad laugh, nor any harsh voice call ; — 
Eut clutching to the tangled grasses, caught 
A sound as though a strong man bowed his head 
And sobbed alone — unloved — uncomforted ! — 
And then straightway before 
My tearless eyes, all vividly, was wrought 
A vision that is with me evermore : — 
A little girl that lies asleep, nor hears 
Nor heeds not any voice nor fall of tears. — 
And T sit singing o'er and o'er and o'er, — 
"God called her in from him and shut the door!" 




59 



HER BEAUTIFUL EYES 

OHER beautiful eyes ! they are as blue as the dew 
On the violet's bloom when the morning is new, 
And the light of their love is the gleam of the sun 
O'er the meadows of Spring where the quick shadows 

run 
As the morn shifts the mists and the clouds from the 

skies — 
So I stand in the dawn of her beautiful eyes. 

And her beautiful eyes are as mid-day to me, 
When the lily-bell bends with the weight of the bee, 
And the throat of the thrush is a-pulse in the heat, 
And the senses are drugged with the subtle and sweet 
And delirious breaths of the air's lullabies — 
So I swoon in the noon of her beautiful eyes. 

O her beautiful eyes ! they have smitten mine own 
As a glory glanced down from the glare of the Throne ; 
And I reel, and I falter and fall, as afar 
Fell the shepherds that looked on the mystical Star, 
And yet dazed in the tidings that bade them arise — 
So I grope through the night of her beautiful eyes. 

60 



^zm 



HER FACE AND BROW 

AH, help me ! but her faee and brow 
Are lovelier than lilies are 
Beneath the light of moon and star 
That smile as they are smiling now — 
White lilies in a pallid swoon 
Of sweetest white beneath the moon — 
White lilies, in a flood of bright 
Pure lucidness of liquid light 
Cascading down sonic plenilune, 
When all the azure overhead 
Blooms like a dazzling daisy-bed. — 
So luminous her fare and brow, 
The luster of their glory, shed 
In memory, even, blinds me now. 



63 




LET US FORGET 

LET us forget. What matters it that we 
Once reigned o'er happy realms of long-ago, 

And talked of love, and let our voices low, 
And ruled for some brief sessions royally? 
What if we sung, or laughed, or wept maybe? 

It has availed not anything, and so 

Let it go by that we may better know 
How poor a thing is lost to you and me. 

But yesterday I kissed your lips, and yet 
Did thrill you not enough to shake the dew 

From your drenched lids — and missed, with no regret, 
Your kiss shot back, with sharp breaths failing you : 

And so, to-day, while our worn eyes are wet 

With all this waste of tears, let us forget ! 

6 4 




WHEN SHE COMES HOME 

WHEN she comes home again ! A thousand ways 
I fashion, to myself, the tenderness 

Of my glad welcome : I shall tremble — yes ; 
And touch her, as when first in the old days 
I touched her girlish hand, nor dared upraise 

Mine eyes, such was my faint heart's sweet distress. 

Then silence : And the perfume of her dress : 
The room will sway a little, and a haze 

Cloy eyesight — soulsight, even — for a space: 
And tears — yes; and the ache here in the throat, 

To know that I so ill deserve the place 
Her arms make for me; and the sobbing note 

I stay with kisses, ere the tearful face 
Again is hidden in the old embrace. 



6; 




LEONAINIE 



LEONAINIE— Angels named her ; 
And they took the light 
Of the laughing stars and framed her 
In a smile of white; 

68 



LEONAINIE 

And they made her hair of gloomy 
Midnight, and her eyes of bloomy 
Moonshine, and they brought her to me 
In the solemn night. — 

In a solemn night of summer, 

When my heart of gloom 
Blossomed up to greet the comer 
Like a rose in bloom ; 

All forebodings that distressed me 
I forgot as Joy caressed me — 
(Lying Joy! that caught and pressed me 
In the arms of doom !) 



Only spake the little lisper 

In the Angel-tongue ; 
Yet I, listening, heard her whisper — 
"Songs are only sung 

Here below that they may grieve you- 
Tales but told you to deceive you, — 
So must Leonainic leave you 
While her love is young." 



6 9 



LEONAINIE 



Then God smiled and it was morning. 

Matchless and supreme, 
Heaven's glory seemed adorning 
Earth with its esteem : 

Every heart but mine seemed gifted 
With the voice of prayer, and lifted 
Where my Leonainie drifted 
From me like a dream. 




70 




HER WAITING FACE. 

In some strange place 
Of long-lost lands he finds her waiting face — 
(nines marveling Upon it, unaware. 
Set moonwise in the midnight of her hair. 



7' 




THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW 
I. 

AS one in sorrow looks upon 
The dead face of a loyal friend, 
By the dim light of New Year's dawn 
I saw the Old Year end. 

Upon the pallid features lay 

The dear old smile — so warm and bright 
Ere thus its cheer had died away 

In ashes of delight. 

The hands that I had learned to love 
With strength of passion half divine, 

Were folded now, all heedless of 
The emptiness of mine. 

7-> 



THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW 

The eyes that once had shed their bright 
Sweet looks like sunshine, now were dull, 

And ever lidded from the light 
That made them beautiful. 

II. 

The chimes of bells were in the air, 
And sounds of mirth in hall and street, 

With pealing laughter everywhere 
And throb of dancing feet : 

The mirth and the convivial din 

Of revelers in wanton glee, 
With tunes of harp and violin 

In tangled harmony. 

But with a sense of nameless dread, 
I turned me, from the merry face 

Of this newcomer, to my dead ; 
And, kneeling there a space, 

I sobbed aloud, all tearfully: — 

l>y this dear face so fixed and cold, 

O Lord, lei not this New Year be 
As happy as the old ! 

75 



T 



THEIR SWEET SORROW 

HEY meet to say farewell : Their way 
Of saying this is hard to say. — 
He holds her hand an instant, wholly 
Distressed— and she unclasps it slowly. 



He bends his gaze evasively 

Over the printed page that she 

Recurs to, with a new-moon shoulder 
Glimpsed from the lace-mists that enfold her. 

The clock, beneath its crystal cup, 

Discreetly clicks — "Quick! Act! Speak up!" 

A tension circles both her slender 

Wrists — and her raised eyes flash in splendor, 

Even as he feels his dazzled own. — 
Then, blindingly, round either thrown, 
They feel a stress of arms that ever 
Strain tremblingly — and "Never! Never!" 

Is whispered brokenly, with half 

A sob, like a belated laugh, — 

While cloyingly their blurred kiss closes, 
Sweet as the dew's lip to the rose's 




JUDITU 

OHER eyes arc amber-fine — 
Dark and deep as wells of wine 
While her smile is like the noon 
Splendor of a day of June. 
If she sorrow — lb! her face 
It is like a flowery space 

79 



JUDITH 

In bright meadows, overlaid 

With light clouds and lulled with shade. 

If she laugh— it is the trill 

Of the wayward whippoorwill 

Over upland pastures, heard 

Echoed by the mocking-bird 

In dim thickets dense with bloom 

And blurred cloyings of perfume. 

If she sigh — a zephyr swells 

Over odorous asphodels 

And wan lilies in lush plots 

Of moon-drown'd forget-me-nots. 

Then, the soft touch of her hand - 

Takes all breath to understand 

What to liken it thereto ! — 

Never roseleaf rinsed with dew 

Might slip soother-suave than slips 

Her slow palm, the while her lips 

Swoon through mine, with kiss on kiss 

Sweet as heated honev is. 



So 






J 



HE AND I 

UST drifting on together — 
He and I — 



As through the balmy weather 

Of July 
Drift two thistle-tufts imbedded 
Each in each — by zephyrs wedded — 
Touring upward, giddy-headed, 

For the sky. 

And, veering up and onward, 

Do we seem 
Forever drifting dawnward 
In a dream, 
Where we meet song-birds that know us, 
And the winds their kisses blow US, 
While the years flow far below us 
Like a stream. 

And we arc happy — very — 
lie and I — 

83 



HE AND I 

Aye, even glad and merry 

Though on high 
The heavens are sometimes shrouded 
By the midnight storm, and clouded 
Till the pallid moon is crowded 

From the sky. 

My spirit ne'er expresses 

Any choice 
But to clothe him with caresses 
And rejoice ; 
And as he laughs, it is in 
Such a tone the moonbeams glisten 
And the stars come out to listen 
To his voice 

And so, whate'er the weather, 
He and I, — 
With our lives linked thus together, 
Float and fly 
As two thistle-tufts imbedded 
Each in each — by zephyrs wedded — 
Touring upward giddy- headed, 
For the skv. 



8 4 




THE LOST PATH 

ALONE they walked — their fingers knit together 
And swaying listlessly as might a swing 
Wherein Dan Cupid dangled in the weather 
()f some sun flooded afternoon of Spring. 



«7 



THE LOST PATH 

Within the clover-fields the tickled cricket 

Laughed lightly as they loitered down the lane, 

And from the covert of the hazel-thicket 

The squirrel peeped and laughed at them again. 

The bumble-bee that tipped the lily-vases 
Along the road-side in the shadows dim, 

Went following the blossoms of their faces 

As though their sweets must needs be shared with him. 

Between the pasture bars the wondering cattle 
Stared wistfully, and from their mellow bells 

Shook out a welcoming whose dreamy rattle 
Fell swooningly away in faint farewells 



And though at last the gloom of night fell o'er them, 
And folded all the landscape from their eyes, 

They only know the dusky path before them 
Was leading safely on to Paradise. 



"•'■ 




"■: •' . 


■ 


r """ ■[ '}' 


7 






f^litot- ' • 




MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE 

OSOUL of mine, look out and see 
My bride, my bride that is to be ! 

Reach out with mad, impatient hands, 
And draw aside futurity 
As one might draw a veil aside — 

And so unveil her where she stands 
Madonna-like and glorified — 

The queen of undiscovered lands 
Of love, to where she beckons me — 
My bride — my bride that is to be. 

The shadow of a willow-tree 
That wavers on a garden-wall 
In summertime may never fall 

In attitude as gracefully 

As my fair bride that is to be ; — 
Nor ever Autumn's leaves of brown 

As lightly flutter to the lawn 

As fall her fairy-feet upon 

The path of love she loiters down. — 

O'er drops of dew she walks, and yet 

Not one may stain her sandal wet — 



90 






MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE 

Aye, she might dance upon the way 
Xor crush a single drop to spray, 
So airy-like she seems to me, — 
My bride, my bride that is to be. 

I know not if her eyes are light 
As summer-skies or dark as night, — 
I only know that they are dim 
With mystery : In vain I peer 
To make their hidden meaning clear, 
While o'er their surface, like a tear 
That ripples to the silken brim, 
A look of longing seems to swim 
All worn and wearylike to me ; 
And then, as suddenly, my sight 
Is blinded with a smile so bright, 
Through folded lids I still may see 
My bride, my bride that is to be. 

Her face is like a night of June 
Upon whose brow the crescent -moon 
Hangs pendant in a diadem 
( )1 stars, with envy lighting them. — 

And, like a wild cascade, her hair 
Floods neck and shoulder, arm and wrist, 
Till only through a gleaming mist 

T seem to see a siren there, 
With lips of love and melody 



93 



MY BRIDE THAT IS TO BE 

And open arms and heaving breast 
Wherein I fling myself to rest, 
The while my heart cries hopelessly 
For my fair bride that is to be. . . . 

Nay, foolish heart and blinded eyes ! • 
My bride hath need of no disguise. — 

But, rather, let her come to me 
In such a form as bent above 

My pillow when in infancy 
I knew not anything but love. — 
O let her come from out the lands 

Of Womanhood — not fairy isles, — 
And let her come with Woman's hands 

And Woman's eyes of tears and smiles,- 
With Woman's hopefulness and grace 
Of patience lighting up her face : 
And let her diadem be wrought 
Of kindly deed and prayerful thought, 
That ever over all distress 
May beam the light of cheerfulness. — 
And let her feet be brave to fare 
The labyrinths of doubt and care, 
That, following, my own may find 
The path to Heaven God designed.— 
O let her come like this to me — 
My bride — my bride that is to be. 



94 






HOW IT HAPPENED 

I GOT to thinkin' of her — both her parents dead and 
gone— 
And all her sisters married off, and none but her and John 
A-livin' all alone there in that lonesome sort o' way, 
And him a blame old bachelor, confirmcler ev'ry day ! 
I'd knowed 'em all from childern, and their daddy from 

the time 
Pie settled in the neighberhood, and hadn't ary a dime 
Er dollar, when he married, fer to start housekeepin' on ! — 
So I got to thinkin' of her — both her parents dead and 

gone ! 

I got to thinkin' of her ; and a-wundern what she done 
That all her sisters kep' a gittin' married, one by one. 
And her without no chances — and the best girl of the 

pack — 
An old maid, with her hands, you might say, tied behind 

her back ! 
And Mother, too, afore she died, she ust to jes' take on, 
When none of 'em was left, you know, but Kvalinc and 

John, 

95 



HOW IT HAPPENED 

And jes' declare to goodness 'at the young men must be 

bline 
To not see what a wife they'd git if they got Evaline ! 

I got to thinkin' of her ; in my great affliction she 

Was sich a ccmfert to us, and so kind and neighberly, — 

She'd come, and leave her housework, fer to he'p out 

little Jane, 
And talk of her own mother 'at she'd never see again — 
Maybe sometimes cry together — though, fer the most part 

she 
Would have the child so riconciled and happy-like 'at we 
Felt lonesomer 'n ever when she'd put her bonnet on 
And say she'd railly haf to be a-gittin' back to John! 

I got to thinkin' of her, as I say, — and more and more 
I'd think of her dependence, and the burdens at she 

bore, — 
Her parents both a-bein' dead, and all her sisters gone 
And married off, and her a-livin' there alone with John — 
You might say jes' a-toilin' and a-slavin' out her life 
Fer a man 'at hadn't pride enough to git hisse'f a wife — 
'Less some one married Evaline and packed her off some 

day ! — 
So T got to thinkin' of her — and it happened thataway. 

9 r, 



WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE 

I. 

WHEN my dreams come true — when my dreams 
come true — 
Shall I lean from out my casement, in the starlight and 

the dew, 
To listen — smile and listen to the tinkle of the strings 
Of the sweet guitar my lover's fingers fondle, as he sings? 
And as the nude moon slowly, slowly shoulders into view, 
Shall T vanish from his vision — when my dreams come 
true ? 

When my dreams come true — shall the simple gown I 

wear 
V>c changed to softest satin, and my maiden-braided hair 
Be raveled into (lossy mists of rarest, fairest gold. 
To he minted into kisses, more than any heart can hold? — 
Or "the summer of my tresses" shall my lover liken to 
"The fervor of ins passion"- -~\\ hen my dreams come true ? 

99 



WHEN MY DREAMS COME TRUE 



II. 



When my dreams come true — I shall bide among the 

sheaves 
Of happy harvest meadows ; and the grasses and the 

leaves 
Shall lift and lean between me and the splendor of the 

sun, 
Till the noon swoons into twilight, and the gleaners' 

work is done — 
Save that yet an arm shall bind me, even as the reapers do 
The meanest sheaf of harvest — when my dreams come 

true. 

When my dreams come true ! when my dreams come true ! 
True love in all simplicity is fresh and pure as dew ; — 
The blossom in the blackest mold is kindlier to the eye 
Than any lily born of pride that looms against the sky : 
And so it is I know my heart will gladly welcome you, 
My lowliest of lovers, when my dreams come true. 



TOO 



N 



NOTHIN' TO SAY 

OTHIN' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at ail to 
say ! — 

Gyrls that's in love, I've noticed, ginerly has their way! 
Yer mother did, afore you, when her folks objected 

to me — 
Yit here I am, and here you air ; and yer mother — where 
is she? 

You look lots like yer mother: Purty much same in 

size ; 
And about the same complected ; and favor about the 

eyes : 
Like her, too, about liviri here, — because she couldn't 

stay : 
It'll 'most seem like you was dead — like her! — But I 

hain't got nothin' to say! 
103 



NOTHIN TO SAY 

She left you her little Bible — writ yer name acrost the 

page— 
And left her ear-bobs fer you, ef ever you come of age. 
I've alius kep' 'em and gyuarded 'em, but ef yer goin' 

away — 
Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say! 

You don't rikollect her, I reckon? No; yon wasn't a 

year old then ! 
And now yer — how old air you? W'y, child, not 

''twenty!" When? 
And yer nex' birthday's in Aprile? and you want to git 

married that day? 
....I wisht yer mother was livin' ! — But — I hain't got 

nothin' to say ! 

Twenty year ! and as good a gyrl as parent ever found ! 
There's a straw ketched onto yer dress there — I'll bresh 

it off — turn round. 
(ITer mother was jes' twenty when us two run away!) 
Nothin' to say, my daughter! Nothin' at all to say! 



104 




IKE WALTON'S PRAYER 

1 CRAVE, dear Lord, 
No boundless hoard 
Of gold and gear, 
Nor jewels fine, 
Nor lands, nor kine, 
Nor treasure-heaps of anything. — 
I ,e1 but a liltle but be mine 



07 



IKE WALTON S PRAYER 

Where at the hearthstone I may hear 
The cricket sing, 
And have the shine 
Of one glad woman's eyes to make, 
For my poor sake, 

Our simple home a place divine ; — 
Just the wee cot — the cricket's chirr — 
Love, and the smiling face of her. 

I pray not for 

Great riches, nor 

For vast estates, and castle-halls, — 
Give me to hear the bare footfalls 
Of children o'er 
An oaken floor, 
New-rinsed with sunshine, or bespread 
With but the tiny coverlet 
And pillow for the baby's head; 

And pray Thou, may 

The door stand open and the day 
Send ever in a gentle breeze, 
With fragrance from the locust-trees, 

And drowsy moan of doves, and blur 
Of robin-chirps, and drone of bees, 

1 08 



IKE WALTON S PRAYER 

With afterhushes of the stir 
Of intermingling sounds, and then 

The good-wife and the smile of her 
Filling the silences again — 
The cricket's call, 

And the wee cot, 
Dear Lord of all, 
Deny me not! 

I pray not that 
Men tremble at 

My power of place 
And lordly sway, — 
I only pray for simple grace 
To look my neighbor in the face 

Full honestly from day to day — 
Yield me his horny palm to hold, 
And I'll not pray 
For gold ; — 
The tanned face, garlanded with mirth, 
It hath the kingliest smile on earth — 
The swart brow, diamonded with sweat, 
Math never need of coronet. 



109 



IKE WALTON S PRAYER 

And so I reach, 

Dear Lord, to Thee, 
And do beseech 
Thou givest me 
The wee cot, and the cricket's chirr, 
Love, and the glad sweet face of her! 




no 



ILLILEO 

ILLILEO, the moonlight seemed lost across the vales — 
The stars but strewed the azure as an armor's scat- 
tered scales ; 
The airs of night were quiet as the breath of silken sails : 
And all your words were sweeter than the notes of 
nightingales. 

Illileo Legardi, in the garden there alone, 

With your figure carved of fervor, as the Psyche carved 
of stone, 

There came to me no murmur of the fountain's under- 
tone 

So mystically, musically mellow as your own. 

You whispered low, Illileo — so low the leaves were 

mute, 
And the echoes faltered breathless in your voice's vain 

pursuit ; 

i i i 



. 



ILLILEO 

And there died the distant dalliance of the serenader's 

lute: 
And I held you in my bosom as the husk may hold the 

fruit. 

Illileo, I listened. I believed you. In my bliss, 

What were all the worlds above me since I found you 

thus in this? — 
Let them reeling reach to win me — even Heaven I 

would miss, 
Grasping earthward ! — I would cling here, though T 

clung by just a kiss ! 

And blossoms should grow odorless — and lilies all 

aghast — 
And I said the stars should slacken in their paces through 

the vast, 
Ere yet my loyalty should fail enduring to the last. — 
So vowed I. It is written. It is changeless as the past. 

Illileo Legardi, in the shade your palace throws 

Like a cowl about the singer at your gilded porticos, 

A moan goes with the music that may vex the high 

repose 

Of a heart that fades and crumbles as the crimson of 

a rose. 

I [2 




THE WIFE-BLESSED 



IN youth he wrought, with eyes ablur, 
Lorn-faced and long of hair — 
In youth — in youth he painted her 

A sister of tin.' air — 
Could clasp her not, hut felt the stir 
Of pinions everywhere. 



"5 



THE WIFE-BLESSED 



II. 



She lured his gaze, in braver days, 
And tranced him sirenwise ; 

And he did paint her, through a haze 
Of sullen paradise, 

With scars of kisses on her face 
And embers in her eves. 



III. 



And now — nor dream nor wild conceit- 
Though faltering, as before — 

Through tears he paints her, as is meet, 
Tracing the dear face o'er 

With lilied patience meek and sweet 
As Mother Alary wore. 



Tl6 



MY MARY 

MY Mary, O my Mary ! 
The simmer-skies are blue : 
The dawnin' brings the dazzle, 

An' the gloamin' brings the dew,— 
The mirk o' nicht the glory 

O' the moon, an' kindles, too, 
The stars that shift aboon the lift. — 
But nae thing brings me you ! 

Where is it, O my Mary, 

Ye are biding a' the while? 
I ha' wended by your window — 

I ha' waited by the stile, 
An' up an' down the river 

I ha' won for mony a mile, 
Yet never found, adrift or drown'd, 

Your lang-belated smile. 

Is it forgot, my Mary, 

How glad we used to be? — 
"7 



MY MARY 

The simmer-time when bonny bloomed 

The auld trysting-tree, — 
How there I carved the name for you, 

An' you the name for me ; 
An' the gloamin' kenned it only 

When we kissed sae tenderly. 

Speek ance to me, my Mary ! — 

But whisper in my ear 
As light as ony sleeper's breath, 

An' a' my soul will hear ; 
My heart shall stap its beating 

An' the soughing atmosphere 
Be hushed the while I leaning smile 

An' listen to you, clear! 

My Mary, O my Mary ! 

The blossoms bring the bees ; 
The sunshine brings the blossoms, 

An' the leaves on a' the trees ; 
The simmer brings the sunshine 

An' the fragrance o' the breeze- 
But O wi'out you, Mary, 

I care nae thing for these! 



[8 



MY MARY 

We were sae happy, Mary ! 

O think how ance we said — 
Wad ane o' us gae fickle, 

Or ane o' us lie dead, — 
To feel anither's kisses 

We wad feign the auld instead, 
An' ken the ither's footsteps 

In the green grass owerhead. 

My Mary, O my Mary! 

Are ye daughter o' the air, 
That ye vanish aye before me 

As I follow everywhere? — 
Or is it ye are only 

But a mortal, wan wi' care? — 
Syne I search through a' the kirkyird 

An' I dinna find ye there ! 



z mz 



W4& $ 



121 



HOME AT NIGHT 

WHEN chirping crickets fainter cry, 
And pale stars blossom in the sky, 
And twilight's gloom has dimmed the bloom 
And blurred the butterfly : 

When locust-blossoms fleck the walk, 
And up the tiger-lily stalk 
The glow-worm crawls and clings and falls 
And glimmers down the garden-walls : 

When buzzing things, with double wings 
Of crisp and raspish flutterings, 
Go whizzing by so very nigh 
One thinks of fangs and stings : — 

O then, within, is stilled the din 
Of crib she rocks the baby in, 
And heart and gate and latch's weight 
Are lifted — and the lips of Kate. 



122 



m 1 



WHEN LIDE MARRIED HIM 



WHEN Lide married him — w'y, she had to jes dee-fy 
The whole poppilation! — But she never bat' an 
eye! 
Her parents begged, and threatened — she must give him 

up — that he 
Wuz jes "a common drunkard!" — And he wuif, ap- 
pearand v. — 

[25 



WHEN LIDE MARRIED HIM 

Swore they'd chase him off the place 
Ef he ever showed his face — 

Long after she'd eloped with him and married him fer 
shore ! — 

When Lide married him, it wuz "Katy, bar the door!" 



When Lide married him — Well! she had to go and be 
A hired girl in town somewheres — while he tromped 

round to see 
What he could git that he could do, — you might say, 

jes sawed wood 
From door-to-door ! — that's what he done — 'cause that 

wuz best he could ! 

And the strangest thing, i jing! 

Wuz, he didn't drink a thing, — 

But jes got down to bizness, like he someway zvanted to, 

When Lide married him, like thev warned her not to do ! 



When Lide married him — er, ruther, had ben married 
A little up'ards of a year — some feller come and carried 
That hired girl away with him — a ruther stylish feller 
In a bran-new green spring-wagon, with the wheels 
striped red and yeller : 
T26 



WHEN LIDE MARRIED HIM 

And he whispered, as they driv 
Tords the country, "Now well live!" — 
A ..nd somepin' else she laughed to hear, though both her 

eyes wuz dim, 
Bout "trustin' Love and Heav'n above, sence Lide mar- 
ried him!" 




1 2 7 



HER HAIR 

THE beauty of her hair bewilders me — 
Pouring adown the brow, its cloven tide 
Swirling about the ears on either side 
And storming round the neck tumultuously : 
Or like the lights of old antiquity 

Through mullioned windows, in cathedrals wide, 
Spilled moltenly o'er figures deified 
In chastest marble, nude of drapery. 
And so I love it. — Either unconfined ; 

Or plaited in close braidings manifold ; 
( )r smoothly drawn ; or indolently twined 

In careless knots whose codings come unrolled 
At any lightest kiss; or by the wind 

Whipped out in flossy ravelings of gold. 



T28 




LAST NIGHT— AND TUTS 

LAST night — how deep the darkness was: 
And well 1 knew its depths, because 
I waded it from shore to shore, 
Thinking to reach the lighl no more. 



131 



LAST NIGHT AND THIS 

She would not even touch my hand. — 
The winds rose and the cedars fanned 
The moon out, and the stars fled back 
In heaven and hid — and all was black ! 

But ah ! To-night a summons came, 
Signed with a teardrop for a name, — 
For as I wondering kissed it, lo, 
A line beneath it told me so. 

And now the moon hangs over me 
A disk of dazzling brilliancy, 
And every star-tip stabs my sight 
With splintered glitterings of light ! 




132 



A DISCOURAGING MODEL 

JUST the airiest, fairiest slip of a thing, 
With a Gainsborough hat, like a butterfly's wing, 
Tilted up at one side with the jauntiest air, 
And a knot of red roses sown in under there 
Where the shadows are lost in her hair. 

Then a cameo face, carven in on a ground 
Of that shadowy hair where the roses are wound; 
And the gleam of a smile ( ) as fair and as faint 
And as sweet as the masters of old used to paint 
Round the lips of their favorite saint ! 

[33 



A DISCOURAGING MODEL 

And that lace at her throat — and the fluttering hands 
Snowing there, with a grace that no art understands, 
The flakes of their touches — first fluttering at 
The bow — then the roses — the hair — and then that 
Little tilt of the Gainsborough hat. 

What artist on earth, with a model like this, 
Holding not on his palette the tint of a kiss, 
Nor a pigment to hint of the hue of her hair, 
Nor the gold of her smile — O what artist could dare 
To expect a result half so fair? 



T34 



SUSPENSE 

A WOMAN'S figure, on a ground of night 
Inlaid with sallow stars that dimly stare 

Down in the lonesome eyes, uplifted there 
As in vague hope some alien lance of light 
Might pierce their woe. The tears that blind her sight- 

The salt and bitter blood of her despair — 

Her hands toss back through torrents of her hair 
And grip toward God with anguish infinite. 

And O the carven mouth, with all its great 
Intensity of longing frozen fast 

In such a smile as well may designate 
The slowly-murdered heart, that, to the last 

Conceals each newer wound, and back at Fate 
Throbs Love's eternal lie — "Lo, I can wait!" 



136 




TOM VAN ARDEN 

TOM VAN ARDEN, my old friend, 
Our warm fellowship is one 
Far too old to comprehend 

Where its bond was first begun: 
Mirage-like before my gaze 
( rleams a land of other days, 
Where two truant boys, astray, 
I )ream their lazy lives awa\ . 



TOM VAN ARDEN 

There's a vision, in the guise 

Of Midsummer, where the Past 
Like a weary beggar lies 

In the shadow Time has cast ; 
And as blends the bloom of trees 
With the drowsy hum of bees, 
Fragrant thoughts and murmurs blend, 
Tom Van Arden, my old friend. 

Tom Van Arden, my old friend, 

All the pleasures we have known 
Thrill me now as I extend 

This old hand and grasp your own — 
Feeling, in the rude caress, 
All affection's tenderness ; 
Feeling, though the touch be rough, 
Our old souls are soft enough. 

So we'll make a mellow hour ; 

Fill your pipe, and taste the wine — 
Warp your face, if it be sour, 
I can spare a smile from mine ; 
If it sharpen up your wit, 
Let me feel the edge of it — 
140 



TOM VAN ARDEN 

I have eager ears to lend 

Tom Van Arden, my old friend. 

Tom Van Arden, my old friend, 
Are we "lucky dogs," indeed ? 
Are we all that we pretend 
In the jolly life we lead? — 
Bachelors, we must confess, 
Boast of "single blessedness" 
To the world, but not alone — 
Man's best sorrow is his own ! 

And the saddest truth is this, — 
Life to ns has never proved 
What we tasted in the kiss 

Of the women we have loved : 
Vainly we congratulate 
Our escape from such a fate 
As their lying lips could send, 
Tom Van Arden, my old friend ! 

Tom Van Arden, my old friend, 
I [earts, like fruit upon the stem, 

Ripen sweetest, I contend, 
As the frost falls over them : 
143 



TOM VAN ARDEN 



Your regard for me to-day 
Makes November taste of May, 
And through every vein of rhyme 
Pours the blood of summertime. 



When our souls are cramped with youth 

Happiness seems far away 

In the future, while, in truth, 

We look back on it to-day 

Through our tears, nor dare to boast, 
"Better to have loved and lost !" 
Broken hearts are hard to mend, 
Tom Van Arden, my old friend. 



Tom Van Arden, my old friend, 

I grow prosy, and you tire ; 
Fill the glasses while I bend 

To prod up the failing fire. . . . 
You are restless : — I presume 
There's a dampness in the room. — 
Much of warmth our nature begs, 
With rheumatics in our legs ! . . . 
144 



TOM VAN ARDEN 

Humph ! the legs we used to fling 

Limber- jointed in the dance, 
When we heard the fiddle ring 
Up the curtain of Romance, 
And in crowded public halls 
Played with hearts like jugglers'-balls. 
Feais of mountebanks, depend! — 
Tom Van Arden, my old friend. 

Tom Van Arden, my old friend, 

Pardon, then, this theme of mine: 
While the fire-light leaps to lend 
Higher color to the wine, — 
I propose a health to those 
Who have homes, and home's repose, 
Wife and child-love without end ! 
. . . Tom Van Arden, my old friend. 



MS 




TO HEAR HER SING 

TO hear her sing — to hear her sing — 
It is to hear the birds of Spring- 
In dewy groves on blooming sprays 
Pour out their blithest roundelays. 

It is to hear the robin trill 
At morning, or the whippoorwill 
At dusk, when stars are blossoming 
To hear her sing" — to hear her sins: ! 



To hear her sing — it is to hear 
The laugh of childhood ringing clear 
In wood}- path or grassy lane 
Our feet may never fare again. 
146 



TO HEAR HER SING 

Faint, far away as Memory dwells, 

It is to hear the village bells 

At twilight, as the truant hears 

Them, hastening home, with smiles and tears. 

Such joy it is to hear her sing, 
We fall in love with everything — 
The simple things of every day 
Grow lovelier than words can say. 

The idle brooks that purl across 
The gleaming pebbles and the moss. 
We love no less than classic streams — 
The Rhines and Arnos of our dreams. 

To hear her sing — with folded eyes, 
It is, beneath Venetian skies, 
To hear the gondoliers' refrain, 
Or troubadours of sunny Spain. — 

To hear the bulbul's voice that shook 
Hie throat that trilled for Lalla Rookh: 
What wonder we in homage bring 
Our hearts to her— to hear her singf! 



H7 



THE RIVAL 

ISO loved once, when Death came by I hid 
Away my face, 
And all my sweetheart's tresses she undid 
To make my hiding-place. 

The dread shade passed me thus unheeding ; and 

I turned me then 
To calm my love — kiss down her shielding hand 

And comfort her again. 

And lo ! she answered not : And she did sit 

All fixedly, 
With her fair face and the sweet smile of it, 

In love with Death, not me. 



148 




A VARIATION 



I AM tired of this! 
* Nothing- else but loving! 
Nothing else but kiss and kiss, 
Coo, and turtle-doviner ! 

( an't yon change the order some? 

I late me just a little come ! 

•5i 



A VARIATION 

Lay aside your "dears," 
"Darlings," "kings," and "princes !" — 
Call me knave, and dry your tears — 
Nothing in me. winces, — 

Call me something low and base — 
Something that will suit the case ! 



Wish I had your eyes 

And their drooping lashes ! 
I would dry their teary lies 
Up with lightning-flashes — 

Make your sobbing lips unsheathe 
All the glitter of your teeth ! 

Can't you lift one word — 

With some pang of laughter — 
Louder than the drowsy bird 
Crooning neath the rafter? 
Just one bitter word, to shriek 
Madly at me as I speak ! 

How I hate the fair 

Beauty of your forehead ! 

*52 



A VARIATION 

How I hate your fragrant hair ! 
How I hate the torrid 

Touches of your splendid lips, 
And the kiss that drips and drips 

Ah, you pale at last ! 

And your face is lifted 
Like a white sail to the blast, 
And your hands are shifted 
Into fists : and, towering thus, 
You are simply glorious ! 

Now before me looms 

Something more than human ; 
Something more than beauty blooms 
In the wrath of Woman — 

Something to bow down before 
Reverently and adore. 



153 




WHERE SHALL WE LAND? 

Where shall we land you, sweet?" — Swinburne. 

ALL listlessly we float 
Out seaward in the boat 
That beareth Love. 
Our sails of purest snow 
Bend to the blue below 

And to the blue above. 

Where shall we land? 

154 






WHERE SHALL WE LAND 

We drift upon a tide 
Shoreless on every side, 

Save where the eye 
Of Fancy sweeps far lands 
Shelved slopingly with sands 

Of gold and porphyry. 

Where shall we land? 

The fairy isles we see, 
Loom up so mistily — 

So vaguely fair, 
We do not care to break 
Fresh bubbles in our wake 

To bend our course for there. 
Where shall we land ? 

The warm winds of the deep 
Have lulled our sails to sleep, 

And so we glide 
Careless of wave or wind, 
Or change of any kind, 

Or turn of any tide. 

Where shall we land? 

We droop our dreamy eyes 
Where our reflection lies 
Steeped in the sea. 



55 



WHERE SHALL WE LAND 

And, in an endless fit 
Of languor, smile on it 

And its sweet mimicry. 

Where shall we land ? 

"Where shall we land?" God's grace! 
I know not any place 
So fair as this — 
Swung here between the blue 
Of sea and sky, with you 
To ask me, with a kiss, 

"Where shall we land ?" 




«6 




THE TOUCHES OF HER HANDS 

THE touches of her hands are like the fall 
Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down 
The peach just brushes 'gainst the garden wall ; 
The flossy fondlings of the thistle-wisp 

Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of- brown 
The blighting frost hath turned from green to crisp. 



*57 






THE TOUCHES OF HER HANDS 

Soft as the falling of the dusk at night, 
The touches of her hands, and the delight — 

The touches of her hands ! 
The touches of her hands are like the dew 
That falls so softly down no one e'er knew 
The touch thereof save lovers like to one 
Astray in lights where ranged Endymion. 

O rarely soft, the touches of her hands, 
As drowsy zephyrs in enchanted lands ; 

Or pulse of dying fay ; or fairy sighs ; 
Or — in between the midnight and the dawn, 
When long unrest and tears and fears are gone- 
Sleep, smoothing down the lids of weary eyes. 




158 




~gj/ 



A SONG OF LONG AGO 

A SONG of Long Ago : 
<** Sing it lightly— sing it low- 
Sing it softly— like the lisping of the lips we 

used to know 
When our baby-laughter spilled 
From the glad hearts ever filled 
With music blithe as robin ever trilled ! 

Let the fragrant summer-breeze, 

And the leaves of locust-trees, 

And the apple-buds and blossoms, and the 

wings of honey-bees, 
All palpitate with ghe, 
Till the happy harmony 
Brings back each childish joy to you and me. 

Let the eyes of fancy turn 
Where the tumbled pippins burn 
Like embers in the orchard's lap of tangled 
grass and fern, — 
1 60 



A SONG OF LONG AGO 

There let the old path wind 

In and out and on behind 

The cider-press that chuckles as we grind. 

Blend in the song the moan 

Of the dove that grieves alone, 

And the wild whir of the locust, and the 

bumble's drowsy drone ; 
And the low of cows that call 
Through the pasture-bars when all 
The landscape fades away at evenfall. 

Then, far away and clear, 

Through the dusky atmosphere, 

Let the wailing of the kildee be the only 

sound we hear : 
O sad and sweet and low 
As the memory may know 
Is the glad-pathetic song of Long Ago ! 



163 






w 



WHEN AGE COMES ON 



HEN Age comes on ! — 



The deepening dusk is where the dawn 
Once glittered splendid, and the dew 
In honey-drips, from red rose-lips 

Was kissed away by me and you. — 
And now across the frosty lawn 
Black foot-prints trail, and Age comes on — 
And Age comes on ! 
And biting wild-winds whistle through 
Our tattered hopes — and Age comes on ! 

When Age comes on ! — 

O tide of raptures, long withdrawn, 

Flow back in summer-floods, and fling 
Here at our feet our childhood sweet, 



And all the songs we used to sing ! 



Old loves, old friends — all dead and gone — ■ 
Our old faith lost — and Age comes on — 



And Age comes on ! 



Poor hearts ! have we not anything 
But longings left when Age comes on? 

164 




FARMER WHIPPLE.— BACHELOR 



IT'S a mystery to sec me — a man o' fifty-four, 
Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' and 
more — 
A-lookin' glad and smilin' ! And they's none o' you 

can say 
Thai you ran guess the reason why I feel so good 

to day ! 

[67 



:iPPLE. BACHELOR 



I must tell you all about it ! But I'll have to deviate 
A little in beginning so's to set the matter straight 
As to how it comes to happen that I never took a wife — - 
Kind o' "crawfish" from the Present to the Springtime 
of my life ! 

I was brought up in the country : Of a family of five — 
Three brothers and a sister — I'm the only one alive, — 
Fer they all died little babies ; and 'twas one o' Mother's 

ways, 
You know, to want a daughter; so she took a girl to 

raise. 

The sweetest little thing she was, with rosy cheeks, and 

fat— 
We was little chunks o' shavers then about as high as 

that ! 
But someway we sort o' suited-like ! and Mother she'd 

declare 
She never laid her eyes on a more lovin' pair 

Than we was ! So we growed up side by side fer thir- 
teen year', 
And every hour of it she growed to me more dear ! — 
W'y, even Father's dyin', as he did, I do believe 
Warn't more affectin' to me than it was to see her grieve ! 

168 



FARMER WHIPPLE. BACHELOR 

I was then a lad o' twenty ; and I felt a flash o' pride 
In thinkin' all depended on me now to pervide 
Fer Mother and fer Mary; and I went about the place 
With sleeves rolled up — and workin', with a mighty 
smilin' face. — 

Fer sompin else was workin' ! but not a word I said 
Of a certain sort o' notion that was runnin' through 

my head, — 
"Someday Fd mayby marry, and a brother's love was one 
Thing — a lover s was another!" was the way the notion 

run ! 

I remember onc't in harvest, when the "cradle-in' " was 
done — 

When the harvest of my summers mounted up to twen- 
ty-one — 

I was ridin' home with Mary at the closin' o' the day — 

A-chawin' straws and thinkin', in a lover's lazy way ! 

And Mary's cheeks was burnin' like the sunset down 

the lane : 
I noticed she was thinkin', loo, and ast her to explain. 
Well — when she turned and kissed me, with her arms 

around me — law! 
I'd a bigger load o' heaven than I had a load o' straw! 

i(>0 



FARMER WHIPPLE. BACHELOR 

I don't p'tend to learning but I'll tell you what's a fac', 
They's a mighty truthful sayin' somers in a' almanack — 
Ei somers — 'bout "puore happiness" — perhaps some 

folks '11 laugh 
At the idy — "only lastin' jest two seconds and a half." — 

But its jest as true as preachin' ! — fer that was a sister's 

kiss, 
And a sister's lovin' confidence a-tellin' to me this : — 
"She was happy, bcin promised to the son a' fanner 

Brozvii." — 
And my feelin's struck a pardnership with sunset and 

went down ! 

I don't know how I acted — I don't know what I said, 
Fer my heart seemed jest a-turnin' to an ice-cold lump 

o' lead ; 
And the hosses kindo' glimmered before me in the road. 
And the lines fell from my fingers — and that was all I 

knowed — 

Fer — well, J don't know how long — They's a dim re- 
memberer; ce 

Of a sound o' snortin' hosses, and a stake-and-ridered 
fence 

A-whizzin' past, and wheat-sheaves a-dancin' in the air, 

170 



FARMER WHIPPLE. BACHELOR 

And Mary screamin' "Murder!" and a-runnin' up to 
where 

/ was layin' by the roadside, and the wagon upside 

down 
A-leanin' on the gate-post, with the wheels a whirlin' 

round ! 
And I tried to raise and meet her, but I couldn't, with 

a vague 
Sorto' notion comin' to me that I had a broken leg. 

Well, the women missed me through it ; but many a 

time I'd sigh 
As I'd keep a-gittin' better instid o' goin' to die, 
And wonder what was left me worth livin' fer below, 
When the girl I loved was married to another, don't 

you know ! 

And my thoughts was as rebellious as the folks was 

good and kind 
When Brown and Mary married — Railly must a-been 

my mind 
Was kindo' out o' kilter! — fer I hated Brown, you see, 
Worse'n pisen — and the feller whittled crutches out fer 

me — 



173 






FARMER WHIPPLE. BACHELOR 

And done a thousand little ac's o' kindness and respec' — 
And me a-wishin' all the time that I could break his 

neck ! 
My relief was like a mourner's when the funeral is done 
When they moved to Illinois in the Fall o' Forty-one. 

Then I went to work in airnest — I had nothin' much in 

view 
But to drownd out rickollections — and it kep' me busy, 

too! 
But I slowly thrived and prospered, tel Mother used to 

say 
She expected yit to see me a wealthy man some day. 

Then I'd think how little money was, compared to hap- 
piness — 
And who'd be left to use it when I died I couldn't guess ! 
But I've still kep' speculatin' and a-gainin' year by year, 
Tel I'm payin' half the taxes in the county, mighty near ! 

Well ! — A year ago er better, a letter comes to hand 
Astin' how I'd like to dicker fer some Illinois land — 
"The feller that had owned it," it went ahead to state, 
"Had jest deceased, insolvent, leavin' chance to specu- 
late,"— 



174 



FARMER WHIPPLE. BACHELOR 

And then it closed by sayin' that I'd "better come and 

see." — 
I'd never been West, anyhow — a most too wild fer me, 
I'd alius had a notion; but a lawyer here in town 
Said I'd find myself mistakened when I come to look 

around. 

So I bids good-bye to Mother, and I jumps aboard the 

train, 
A-thinkin' what I'd bring her when I come back home 

again — 
And ef she'd had an idy what the present was to be, 
I think it's more'n likely she'd a-went along with me ! 

Cars is awful tejus ridin', fer all they go so fast ! 
But finally they called out my stoppin'-place at last : 
And that night, at the tavern, I dreamp' / was a train 
C cars, and skeered at sompin', runnin' down a country 
lane ! 

Well, in the mornin' airly — after huntin' up the man — 
The lawyer who was wantin' to swap the piece o' land— 
We started fer the country; and I ast the history 
Of the farm — its former owner — and so-forth, etcetery! 

'75 



FARMER WHIPPLE. BACHELOR 

And— well— it was interesfin' — I su-prised him, I sup- 
pose, 

By the loud and frequent manner in which I blowed my 
nose ! — 

But his su-prise was greater, and it made him wonder 
more, 

When I kissed and hugged the widder when she met 
us at the door! — 

It was Mary : They's a feelin' a-hidin' down in here- 
of course I can't explain it, ner ever make it clear.— 
It was with us in that meetiir, I don't want you to 

f ergit ! 
And it makes me kind o' nervous when I think about 

it yit! 

I bought that farm, and deeded it, afore I left the town, 

With "title clear to mansions in the skies," to Man- 
Brown ! 

And fu'thermore, I took her and the childeni—fer, you 
see, 

They'd never seed their Grandma — and I fetched 'em 
home with me. 

176 



FARMER WHIPPLE. BACHELOR 

So now you've got an idy why a man o' fifty-four, 
Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' and 

more, 
Is a-lookin' glad and smilin' ! — And I've jest come into 

town 
To git a pair o' license fer to marry Mary Brown. 




/■ 



^77 




THE ROSE 

IT tossed its head at the wooing breeze ; 
And the sun, like a bashful swain, 
Beamed on it through the waving trees 

With a passion all in vain, — 
For my rose laughed in a crimson glee, 
And hid in the leaves in wait for me. 

i 7 8 



mm 



THE ROSE 

The honey-bee came there to sing 
His love through the languid hours, 

And vaunt of his hives, as a proud old king 
Might boast of his palace-towers : 

Put my rose bowed in a mockery, 

And hid in the leaves in wait for me. 

The humming-bird, like a courtier gay, 
Dipped down with a dalliant song, 

And twanged his wings through the roundelay 
Of love the whole day long: 

Yet my rose turned from his minstrelsy 

And hid in the leaves in wait for me. 

The firefly came in the twilight dim 

My red, red rose to woo — 
Till quenched was the flame of love in him 

And the light of his lantern too, 
As my rose wept with dewdrops three 
And hid in the leaves in wait for me. 

And I said: 1 will culi my own sweet rose — 
Some dav I will claim as mine 



179 



THE ROSE 

The priceless worth of the flower that knows 

No change, but a bloom divine — 
The bloom of a fadeless constancy 
That hides in the leaves in wait for me ! 

But time passed by in a strange disguise, 

And I marked it not, but lay 
In a lazy dream, with drowsy eyes, 

Till the slimmer slipped away, 
And a chill wind sang in a minor key : 
'Where is the rose that waits for thee?" 



I dream to-day, o'er a purple stain 
Of bloom on a withered stalk, 

Pelted down by the autumn rain 
In the dust of the garden-walk, 

That an Angel-rose in the world to be 

Will hide in the leaves in wait for me. 



1 80 



HAS SHE FORGOTTEN? 
I. 

HAS she forgotten? On this very May 
We were to meet here, with the birds and bees, 
As on that Sabbath, underneath the trees 
We strayed among the tombs, and stripped away 
The vines from these old granites, cold and gray — 
And yet indeed not grim enough were they 
To stay our kisses, smiles and ecstasies, 
Or closer voice-lost vows and rhapsodies. 
Has she forgotten — that the May has won 
Its promise ? — that the bird-songs from the tree 
Are sprayed above the grasses as the sun 
Might jar the dazzling dew down showeringly? 
Has she forgotten life — love — everyone — 
Has she forgotten me — forgfotten me? 



;i. 



Low, low down in the violets I press 
My lips and whisper to her. Does she hear. 
And yet hold silence, though I call her dear, 
Just as of old, save for the tearfulness 

i8i 



HAS SHE FORGOTTEN 

Of the clenched eyes, and the soul's vast distress ? 

Has she forgotten thus the old caress 

That made our breath a quickened atmosphere 

That failed nigh unto swooning with the sheer 

Delight ? Mine arms clutch now this earthen heap 

Sodden with tears that flow on ceaselessly 

As autumn rains the long, long, long nights weep 

In memory of days that used to be, — 

Has she forgotten these ? And in her sleep, 

Has she forgotten me — forgotten me? 



III. 



To-night, against my pillow, with shut eyes, 

I mean to weld our faces — through the dense 

Incalculable darkness make pretense 

That she has risen from her reveries 

To mate her dreams with mine in marriages 

Of mellow palms, smooth faces, and tense ease 

Of every longing nerve of indolence, — 

Lift from the grave her quiet lips, and stun 

My senses with her kisses — drawl the glee 

Of her glad mouth, full blithe and tenderly, 

Across mine own, forgetful if is done 

The old love's awful dawn-time when said we, 

"To-day is ours !".... Ah, Heaven ! can it be 

She has forgotten me — forgotten me ! 

T82 




BLOOMS OF MAY 

BUT yesterday !....". 
O blooms of May, 
And summer roses — Where-away? 
( ) stars above, 
And lips of love 
And all the honeyed sweets thereof! 



[85 



BLOOMS OF MAY 




O lad and lass, 

And orchard-pass, 

And briared lane, and daisied grass ! 

O gleam- and gloom, 

And woodland bloom, 

And breezy breaths of all perfume ! — - 



No more for me 

Or mine shall be 

Thy raptures — save in memory, — 

No more — no more — 

Till through the Door 

Of Glory gleam the days of yore. 

1 86 



THE SERMON OF THE ROSE 

WILFUL we are in our infirmity 
Of childish questioning and discontent. 
Whate'er befalls us is divinely meant — 
Thou Truth the clearer for thy mystery ! 
Make us to meet what is or is to be 
With fervid welcome, knowing it is sent 
To serve us in some way full excellent, 
Though we discern it all belatedly. 
The rose buds, and the rose blooms, and the rose 
Bows in the dews, and in its fulness, lo, 
Is in the lover's hand, — then on the breast 
Of her he loves, — and there dies. — And who knows 
Which fate of all a rose may undergo 
Is fairest, dearest, sweetest, loveliest? 

Nay we arc children: we will not mature. 
A blessed gifl must seem a theft ; and tears 
Must storm our eyes when but a joy appears 
In drear disguise of sorrow; and how poor 
T89 



THE SERMON OF THE ROSE 

We seem when we are richest, — most secure 
Against all poverty the lifelong years 
We yet must waste in childish doubts and fears 
That, in despite of reason, still endure ! 
Alas ! the sermon of the rose we will 
Not wisely ponder ; nor the sobs of grief 
Lulled into sighs of rapture ; nor the cry 
Of fierce defiance that again is still. 
Be patient — patient with our frail belief, 
And stay it yet a little ere we die. 

O opulent life of ours, though dispossessed 
Of treasure after treasure! Youth most fair 
When first, but left its priceless coil of hair — 
Moaned over sleepless nights, kissed and caressed 
Through drip and blur of tears the tenderest. 
And next went Love — the ripe rose glowing there, 
Her very sister ! . It is here ; but where 

Is she, of all the world the first and best? 
And yet how sweet the sweet earth after rain — 
How sweet the sunlight on the garden wall 
Across the roses — and how sweetly flows 
The limpid yodel of the brook again ! 
And yet — and yet how sweeter after all, 
The smouldering sweetness of a dead red rose ! 
190 



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